Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (23 page)

“FJTRENT is a pretty easy one to figure out.” FJ smiled. “I thought maybe NIAGRAB or something else about saving money spelled backward like LAGURF would work for Mrs. Frugalicious, but I couldn’t quite crack it.”

The actual password, MSAGURF,
frugasm
spelled backwards, was so close I didn’t know whether to be furious or impressed.

“We’re right aren’t we?” Trent asked.

And more insightful than either Frank or I had given them credit. Little as I wanted to admit it, there was no point in denying what we all three knew to be this particular truth. Especially since there were a few others for which I still needed answers. “Did you also send a message from a Wendy K. about frozen pizza?”

The boys looked at each other as much acknowledging my admission as checking to see if one or the other had been involved.

“Nope,” FJ said.

“So you are Mrs. Frugalicious,” Trent said. “Right?”

I had no choice but to admit the obvious.

The boys high-fived each other.

“What about an interview request from
Here’s the Deal
magazine?” I asked. “Was that you guys as well?”

“No,” FJ said emphatically. “Why?”

“With the possible exception of someone named Wendy, who I think might also be a reporter, no one but you two know I’m Mrs. Frugalicious.”

“And Dad,” Trent said.

Another wave of what was now a constant sick feeling washed over me. “Your dad knows?”

“He doesn’t?” FJ asked.

“I haven’t told him.” I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” Trent asked.

Both boys folded their arms across their chests in a unified gesture of settling in for answers they expected me to provide.

I looked at the phone in my hand, prayed whatever it was Griff needed to tell me would somehow resolve this whole mess, then looked back up at my boys and tried not to imagine how distorted I’d appear to them through that thick Plexiglas. With all they didn’t know, I had to come clean on the details about Mrs. Frugalicious.

“This is entirely confidential.” I took a deep breath. “Not to be discussed or otherwise mentioned to anyone outside of this room.

The boys nodded their assent.

“Swear?”

“We promise,” FJ said.

I took a deep breath. “Your father, thinking he was making a smart move, invested some money with a man who turned out to be a crook. It left us in a bit of a tight spot, so, to help make ends meet until everything righted itself, I began to bargain shop and started the Mrs. Frugalicious blog.”

I laid out the whole story, from the website taking off, to the care I’d taken to protect both Frank’s pride and his status as Denver’s financial guru with a pending national deal. When I was done, I leaned on the edge of my desk and waited for their questions.

“So basically Mrs. Frugalicious was your Hail Mary pass?” Trent asked.

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“A big, last-minute play to save our family.”

“More like I’m playing tough defense until our team, meaning your dad, scores a touchdown tomorrow,” I said, impressed with my ability to pull a football reference out of nowhere. “When everything will be fine again.”

Assuming a few miracles happened.

Both boys nodded.

“Cool,” FJ said.

“Cooler that you’re Mrs. Frugalicious,” Trent said.

Without another word, they turned on their heels and headed back toward the family room.

Even before I heard the clamor of the Xbox fire back up again, I’d pressed redial and was listening to the call ring through to Griff.

Instead, a computer-generated female voice repeated the number I’d just dialed.
The number you have dialed is not available right now.

I hung up.

There wasn’t a chance I was leaving an SOS for another someone purporting to be Griff. Not until after I listened to the message I’d bypassed hoping to reach him in person, anyway.

FJ popped his head back in the doorway before I could. “Mom?”

“Hmm?” I managed.

“Question?”

“Okay.”

“Are you really planning to tell dad about your being Mrs. Frugalicious and stuff?”

I nodded. “As soon as I’m sure he doesn’t have to worry about it reflecting on his job or reputation.”

“But what about that reporter person?”

“What about her?”

“What are you going to do if she knows who you are and every-
thing?”

I sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Was that who those texts and calls were from?”

“I … ” I wished it were that simple. “I haven’t had a chance to figure that out for sure.”

“Gotcha,” he said, but made no move to leave. “Mom?”

“Hmm?” I asked again.

“Everything’s not okay, is it?”

Our eyes met, and I knew by looking at him that he knew way more than he’d led on or shared with his brother.

I couldn’t tell him the truth, but I couldn’t lie either. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

I really had no idea how or if I’d be able to keep my identity as Mrs. Frugalicious a secret, much less prove my innocence and spare my family the distress that seemed headed for their near future, but, as I looked into my son’s bright, intuitive, trusting eyes, I knew I somehow had to figure out a way. “It will be, FJ.”

“Promise?”

It took ever fiber of my being not to burst into tears. “Promise.”

FJ nodded. “If you need any help or anything … ”

“Thanks,” I said, tearing up anyway.

“FJ!” Trent called from the other room. “Chili’s come out and you can see the kittens!”

FJ disappeared and I was left with a lump in my throat and a message I’d waited far too long to hear.

“Maddie.” My name was clear and not at all muffled. “I really can’t leave specifics on a recording but …”

It wasn’t like I’d spoken to him so often I knew the timbre and rhythm of his voice and I certainly didn’t recognize the number, but this Griff was definitely Griff.

He took a breath and exhaled. “The Piggledys.”

The Piggledys?

“I think they may be the key to all this.”

Twenty-Eight

I parked Frank’s car
in the north lot this time and made my way once again into the South Highlands Valley Mall.

There was no way I was ever setting foot in the mall ever again after this, but there was also no way in hell I was watching my sons reach manhood one visitor’s day at a time. I’d proven myself to be a naïve and silly amateur detective, but I knew enough to know that with Griff out of town, no one else was coming to my aid before they tossed me into prison and threw away the key.

Key
being the key word.

I’d redialed Griff immediately after hearing his message, reached voicemail again, and asked
him
to call
me
back ASAP regarding the Piggledys.

When he didn’t return the call, what choice did I have but find out the answer myself?

I hated to think it possible, but the Piggledys did fit the profile, at least the one I’d come up with, of possible suspects. They knew about Laila’s eating disorder. Mr. Piggledy was at the food court at around the time the poison was administered. Given Delia the elephant’s untimely demise, they were no strangers to a poisoning death, either. Hadn’t Mr. Piggledy even called Griff almost immediately after Laila was wheeled away on the stretcher?

While it felt wrong to consider my kindly friends in such a sinister light, someone had killed Laila and run down Tara and Andy, and I knew it wasn’t me.

Mr. Piggledy had helped me load knickknacks I’d bought from their store into my car on more than one occasion. Couldn’t he have remembered what I drove and where I typically parked, if not figured out some kind of clever way to lift my keys?

My gut told me there was no way. By virtue of the sick, rumbling, knotty sensation, my gut also told me it was less than thrilled with the way I’d snuck away from home and husband. I’d admired the darling kittens for one second, told the boys I needed to do an errand related to the future of Mrs. Frugalicious, and then taken off with our remaining car.

Despite the gurgling, there was no time to worry about what my stomach could or couldn’t stomach.

I raced across the mall toward Circus Circus wearing a long brunette wig I hadn’t worn since Frank and I went as Brad and Angie for Halloween. I stopped one store away, put my phone on silent, checked to make sure my Eavesdropper was firmly taped in the waistband of my sweats, and pointed the mic in the direction of the Piggledys inside their store.

“Criminal,” Mr. Piggledy said.

The butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“He’s a common criminal.”

“Technically, I suppose,” Mrs. Piggledy said, “But I’m sure he’d argue it was a mission of mercy.”

As my heart began to thump in anticipation of who
he
might be, Higgledy, who was apparently home safe and sound, began to wail from the back.

“I’ve gotta feed the dear boy,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “He didn’t get any breakfast.”

“Don’t even think about treating him to one of the chocolate-covered bananas,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Mrs. Piggledy disappeared into the back-
room.

I looked down at the tiny red button to confirm the Eavesdropper was indeed taping and pressed rewind just to check.

Mission of mercy …

“Honey, don’t you think you could be overreacting to all this just a little,” Mrs. Piggledy said, returning to the sales floor. “To err is—”

“Human?”

“You get my point.”

Mr. Piggledy sighed heavily. “I still can’t believe Higgledy could have done something this serious.”

Higgledy?

“We have to make this right, somehow.”

“What more can we do than we’ve already done?”

I found myself staring into the store. Had Griff called to tell me that Higgledy was somehow involved in Laila’s death? Were the Piggledys
key
because they’d been covering for their erstwhile, possibly murderous pet?

“We have to talk to—”

“Maddie?” Mr. Piggledy asked. He pointed directly at me.

“Oh!” Mrs. Piggledy said. “That is her, isn’t it?”

I’d planned to walk into Circus Circus, do some obligatory small talk about the triple digit heat, and segue into a list of questions as though I was merely an anonymous customer inquiring about the various goings on at the mall. I figured the Piggledys, who didn’t see all that well and hadn’t recognized me with oily hair, certainly wouldn’t see past my disguise. I also figured they would divulge something I could get on tape to hand over to Detective McClarkey along with my phone records.

I never imagined they might reveal Laila’s killer before I ever said hello.

Or that the killer could be Higgledy.

Or that Mrs. Piggledy would materialize beside me, grab me by the hand, and pull me into the store.

Instead of launching into anything I’d planned to ask, I uttered one word. “Higgledy?”

“Is in time-out,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“Indefinitely,” Mr. Piggledy added.

“Pete from Pet Pals found him unlocking the cages,” she said.

“Again,” he said.

“That little rascal was discovered hiding in the service corridor, where he was waiting until the back door of the pet store opened, and was sneaking inside to be with that bird he’s so smitten with,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “He was caught trying to free her and all her friends.”

Mr. Piggledy sighed. “Unfortunately, Cuddles, the store guinea pig, is now missing, and Pete is threatening to press charges against our little felon!”

“Higgledy’s nothing more than a young lad in love,” Mrs. Piggledy said in a wistful tone. “Pete should be ashamed of himself for overreacting in the midst of everything else going on around here.”

I was certainly ashamed for entertaining the idea a monkey could possibly have been behind Laila’s murder; never mind that I was left, once again, with the question of who was. “Speaking of which, have you heard any updates on Tara and Andy?”

The look that passed between the Piggledys sent a chill down my spine.

“Nothing new I’m afraid,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“But the cards say …”

Another look passed between them.

“Forget the cards,” Mr. Piggledy said. “I say we just lay it all out there.”

“Lay what out there?” I asked, fearing the worst.

Mrs. Piggledy eyed my wig as though she’d just noticed it. “I suppose that is why you’re here.”

My head, already sweaty, began to itch. “I’m here because Griff left me a message that you—”

“Might have some information to share?” Mrs. Piggledy asked.

Before I could nod, much less formulate a
why,
the Piggledys launched into a back and forth of
whens
,
whats
,
wheres,
and
hows.

“We really did think about marching right down to the police station with it all,” Mr. Piggledy added.

“Especially after last night with Andy and Tara.”

“But circus folk don’t just go offering themselves up to the police.”

“Never.” Mrs. Piggledy shook her head. “Besides, we figured someone would come to speak with us.”

“Then no one did.” Mr. Piggledy looked at his hands. “Not until now.”

“The thing is …” Tears formed in Mrs. Piggledy’s eyes. “It’s just not healthy to keep things like this so bottled up inside.”

What was I going to do with what was looking to be a confession? Call Frank and have him send Anastasia and a news crew? Put the two of them under citizen’s arrest and tie them to a carousel animal while I made my case to the police?

“I admit it …” Mrs. Piggledy buried her head in Mr. Piggledy’s shoulder.

Would I have to barricade the front door until the police arrived?

“I never discouraged Higgledy when he tried to bite her.”

That was her confession?

Mr. Piggledy smoothed his wife’s hair. “It’s okay, honey.”

“I hated that woman so much.”

“Me too,” he said. “We’ve been around a bad egg or two in our day, but that Laila DeSimone—”

“She thought any store that wasn’t part of a national chain tarnished the South Highlands Valley Mall image. She told anyone who would listen we should be relocated outside of the mall.”

“But you’re an institution,” I managed, wondering what, if anything they were exactly confessing to.

“Which was why we largely ignored her and let Higgledy do the hissing for us.”

“Until Patricia at the mall offices tipped us off that Laila was trying to seduce Dan Mitchell,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “Or, at least, whisper sweet nothings in his ear long enough to get him to change the terms of our new lease so we wouldn’t be able to renew.”

“Which we were supposed to negotiate the day after she—”

“Died?”

Higgledy’s whimpering and the thump of blood in my ears filled the silence that followed.

“Griff must have heard about it,” Mr. Piggledy finally said. “Which I know made us look suspicious.”

“But we didn’t kill Laila DeSimone.” Mrs. Piggledy leaned toward my waistband. “And we’d
never
have anything to do with what happened to poor Andy and Tara.”

“What are you doing?” Mr. Piggledy asked.

“Making sure she’s getting our denial on tape,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “You are taping this, aren’t you, dear?”

I had no idea whether they were telling the truth or I was being bamboozled circus-style by the sharper-than-they-seemed Piggledys. Either way, I wasn’t about to cop to illegally taping the conversation. “I …”

“I knew from the minute Griff called us—”

“Griff?” My heart began to thump. “He called you, too?”

“He said to be on the lookout for you.”

“Why would he—?”

“We knew right away it was a cover.” Mrs. Piggledy put her arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze. “Like that wig.”

“You make a fetching brunette, by the way,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Thanks,” I wiped the sweat now dripping from my brow. “But …”

“The last name is spelled P-I-G-G-L-E-D-Y,” Mrs. Piggledy said, enunciating every letter. “And we are innocent of any and all possible charges.”

“We figure you and Griff are working undercover.” Mr. Piggledy smiled. “Right?”

“Uhhh …” I said, neither confirming nor denying. “When exactly did Griff call?”

“Just a little while ago,” Mr. Piggledy said. “And the poor boy was beyond out of sorts.”

Mrs. Piggledy shook her head. “Can you imagine coming back from the funeral only to hear the news about Andy and Tara?”

“What funeral?”

“Griff made the trip to Wichita to pay his official respects to Laila’s family,” Mr. Piggledy said. “Seeing as they used to date and all.”

“Laila and Griff used to date?”

“Crazy, huh?” Mrs. Piggledy asked.

With the word
crazy
, my stomach butterflies fluttered like a swarm of Miller moths. Why hadn’t he mentioned he was going to Laila’s actual funeral?

Laila, who he used to
date
?

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

There were no calls or messages.

Why had Griff called the Piggledys to imply I might be coming by, but hadn’t left so much as a return text for me?

Griff, who told me he “didn’t hate” Laila but whose life was simply made more “complicated” by her? Griff ,who claimed to be investigating but could never narrow down a suspect more likely than the Piggledys? Griff, who told me not to worry?

I was very worried.

Didn’t Griff, as jilted boyfriend of a woman like Laila, have the most compelling motive of all? He knew she was bulimic, he’d been in Eternally 21 with access to Laila’s drink the day she died, and he knew I was there too.

He knew I was frameable.

“You don’t look so good,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

I took a deep breath, dreading the answer to what I was about to ask. “Do you think Griff could have been harboring more anger toward Laila than he ever let on?”

“Who could blame him if he was?” Mrs. Piggledy asked.

“Do you happen to know when he said he got back from Wichi-
ta?”

“First thing this morning,” Mr. Piggledy said. “Why?”

It didn’t exactly make sense that Griff would pretend to go out of town, or even come back early, and then impersonate himself.

Or impersonate me in order to run down his friends.

“You’re not thinking he could possibly have had anything to do with Tara and Andy’s accident?”

He did know my car and where I parked in the mall.

My stomach lurched with the thought of him standing in Frank’s dressing room when I came out of the bathroom, where Frank’s keys were lying on the counter.

“I don’t know what to think.”

The Piggledys’ phone rang.

“That’s probably him,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“He said to let him know when you were here so he could come up and—”

“He’s here at the mall?”

Mr Piggledy knit his brow. “I thought you two were in cahoots to solve—”

“I thought so too,” I said. “Which has me wondering why Griff never mentioned his relationship with Laila or his plans to pay his last respects, or why he never contacted me this weekend except to leave a cryptic message about talking with you two?”

“That is weird,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

The phone rang again.

“I’m sure there’s a rational explanation,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Don’t you think we’d best let the call ring through?” Mrs. Piggledy asked.

“I suppose so,” Mr. Piggledy said.

Griff’s recorded voice filled the room: “Mr. and Mrs. Piggledy?”

“He’s going to wonder why we aren’t answering,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Please pick up,” the voice said.

“Griff’s good people,” Mr. Piggledy said. “I don’t think he’d ever—”